so she stays at hotels and calls them her home a soap collection ranging from every state. she gathers quarters and maybe some strength to call him. but her mind is never made up enough to congregate the courage she is desperately in need of. and the future suddenly isn't so clear, suddenly she wants to be home with him his hand sketching words about her in his battered notebook. she wants his arms and his lips around her, everywhere smothering her so she can't breathe because you can't find love in strip clubs and she learned this the hard way.

so she broke a cd and slit her wrists with the music.

ironic ending to a story unfinished.

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